


The Carson Drew Murder Case

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Murder She Wrote, Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: When Carson Drew is arrested for murder, his sister Eloise knows exactly who to call.





	The Carson Drew Murder Case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** _Jessica Fletcher and_ Murder She Wrote _belong to Universal and to Corymore Productions; Nancy and Carson Drew, among a great many others, now belong to Simon & Schuster (who eventually absorbed the Stratemeyer Syndicate). While I have based the following story chiefly on the literary Nancy Drew – and my own reading experience is primarily with the classic yellow-spine editions – my version of Carson Drew is inspired in significant part by William Schallert’s portrayal in the 1970s television series._
> 
> _As will become evident later in the story, I've made two key modifications to these canons in order to facilitate the present narrative. On one hand, I've implicitly aged Nancy (and certain other characters) by a few years to reflect the passage of time between her source canon and Jessica's...and at the same time, I've set the present narrative (subtly) in the present day, complete with email and cell phones, to reflect the essential timelessness of both canons._

**Monday, late morning • A jail in southern Pennsylvania**

Over the years, Jessica Fletcher had spoken to a good many people – innocent and guilty alike – from the opposite side of the glass in prison interview rooms.  Very few of them, however, had displayed the mixture of fierce determination and utter bafflement in the expression of the man she was facing now.

“I want one thing clear from the start,” he said.  “Under absolutely no circumstances is my daughter to be contacted about any of this, until I say otherwise.”

“Eloise told me you were insisting on that,” Jessica replied, “but surely she has the right to know—”

“Legally, that’s true.  And in any ordinary circumstances – hell, even in a lot of not-so-ordinary situations – I’d trust her to take care of herself.  But this is about murder, Mrs. Fletcher.  Someone’s done an impressively nasty job of setting me up, but there’s a good chance that Nancy is their real target, and where murder is involved, I can’t take the chance of letting her near the case.  Fortunately, she’s in Glasgow at the moment, on an assignment.”

“I underst—” Jessica stopped in mid-sigh, as a series of details fell into place.  “Nancy Drew – of course.  I’ve read about her work in the newspapers, and I understand there’s a series of books for young readers inspired by some of her cases.”

Carson Drew nodded, none too happily.  “We’ve had some trouble with that,” he said.  “Nancy’s become enough of a public figure that we can’t entirely block publication of such things, and we thought it would be simpler to grant the publisher a license than to wrangle with them over the accuracy of every new book.  It’s been a difficult relationship, but of course it’s trivial compared to the present matter.”

“No doubt,” Jessica agreed.  “As to that, I’d like to hear your account of what happened.  Eloise told me a little, but if I’m to be of help I need to know as much as possible.  I’ve glanced at the local paper, but these days...” she paused, flipping her free hand outward, “...neutrality about this sort of case is hard to come by.”

“You have that right,” Carson said sourly.  “It looked normal enough from my side, until it didn’t.  A client of mine has a warehouse here in Easton, and last week I came into town to look the place over.  As it happened, Janet Drake – the young woman who’s gone missing – and I were both staying at the same hotel, and when she realized I was a lawyer, she asked for my help in claiming an inheritance.  I tried to suggest she find a local attorney, but she was persistent enough that I invited her into my suite late one afternoon to discuss the matter.  I agreed to file some papers on her behalf, and she insisted on having supper with me afterward in the hotel restaurant.”

“All straightforward enough,” Jessica said thoughtfully, “if perhaps a little incautious in hindsight.  I presume you went your separate ways after the meal?”

“We did; that was the last I saw of her.  I spent most of the evening at my client’s facility, and it wasn’t till the next afternoon that the police came round.  Ms. Drake’s older sister, Lucy, had been trying to reach her, and of course I was the last person who’d been seen with Janet.  At that point I had no reason to suspect anything peculiar was afoot, so I didn’t object when the officers asked to search my room – in their position, it was a natural request.  But then ‘evidence’ started turning up, and here we are.”  Carson shook his head, looking both angry and annoyed.

Jessica cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Just how good is this evidence?”

“Very possibly, good enough to get me convicted,” Carson told her.  “Don’t ask me how – and don’t ask how they got DNA results back as fast as they did – but it seems that besides a scarf and an earring belonging to Janet, they found a set of my underwear that has both her genetic material and mine on it.  Which of course suggests that she and I were intimate, and from there, the theory goes that I killed her and dumped the body in the Lehigh River – which runs, conveniently, right past my client’s warehouse.”

“Dear me,” Jessica said.  “If one takes that evidence as valid, that’s a disturbingly reasonable case.”

“You’re telling me,” said Carson Drew.  “But I promise you it _isn’t_ valid.  I admit I’ve sown a few wild oats in the years since Nancy’s mother passed, but never that wild.  Janet Drake was within a year or two of Nancy’s age, I’d guess.”

Jessica shook her head. “That would mean, though, that the evidence against you was manufactured.  Anyone might have placed the scarf and earring – but creating and planting the underwear would have taken considerable planning and forethought.”

Carson nodded.  “There are just two explanations – Janet herself was setting me up from the start, or someone else had us both in his sights.  And the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question attached to either of those is: Why?”

“You _are_ a lawyer,” Jessica pointed out, “with, as I understand it, a practice that’s included criminal law.  That does tend to produce ill-wishers.”

“So it does,” Carson replied, “but no one I can recall strikes me as clever and subtle enough to have set up this particular trap.  And virtually all of the villains Nancy’s caught over the years have been thieves and swindlers, whereas our current mastermind is focused on murder – if not Janet’s, then certainly mine by proxy.  And I very much fear their ultimate target is, in fact, Nancy.”

Jessica set her hand against the glass wall between them. “That seems entirely possible, and I understand completely why you want to keep her out of this.  For the moment, I’m inclined to agree – but at some point, she will have to be told, and the longer we wait, the less pleased she’ll be when she finds out.”

Carson Drew’s chuckle was brief and hollow.  “I don’t doubt it, but that’s a problem I can live with. Is there anything more you need from me before they bounce you out of here?”

“Just one or two details, I think.  I may need to talk with that client of yours; was there, in fact, anything irregular going on with respect to that warehouse?”

Carson frowned.  “If there was, I didn’t come across it.”

“Hmm,” Jessica said.  “And Janet’s sister Lucy – where might I find her?”

“That I don’t know, but I expect the police do.  I only met her briefly, before I was arrested. I remember she turned down the hotel manager’s offer of a room – she couldn’t stay, she said, in the same place Janet had suffered so much.”

Jessica’s lips pursed.  “Understandable.  But also interesting, in the circumstances.  I’d best be on my way now.  There’s a good deal of work to do, and I should call Eloise as well.”  She started to rise, then paused.  “Ought she or I to contact a lawyer for you?”

“That’s covered,” Carson told her. “I have a colleague who’ll file any papers I need the moment he gets the word – but for now, as much as I hate it, I think I’m actually safest right here.”

“You could be right about that,” said Jessica.  “At least while you’re here, our prospective mastermind can’t use you to cover any new misdeeds.  Very well, then.”  She set the phone handset back in its place and stood up, briskly following her escort out of the interview room.

#

**Monday, early afternoon • The local sheriff's office**

“Deputy Zayas, I presume?”

“ _Si._ And you would be?”  The deputy rolled her chair sideways and eyed Jessica through the tinted lenses of her glasses.

“Jessica Fletcher.  Carson Drew contacted me in connection with his present difficulties, and I’d like to discuss the matter with you.”

Deputy Zayas frowned.  “We don’t discuss active cases with civilians, _Señora_ Fletcher.”

Jessica frowned right back.  “As I just told you, Mr. Drew requested that I step in, since he’s not able to pursue the situation more directly at this time.  And as to your case, precisely what charges have been filed, and on what basis?”

The deputy shifted uneasily in her chair.  “We’re still evaluating that.   Right now, though, it looks extremely likely that Carson Drew killed that girl.”

Jessica escalated her frown into full-on skepticism.  “Surely that’s an extremely premature conclusion, considering the lack of evidence.  So far as I understand the matter, there’s no real indication that any sort of crime has been committed.”

“Janet Drake was definitely in that room,” Zayas shot back.  “We know she and Mr. Drew were intimate with one another.  Now her sister says she’s missing.  It doesn’t take much math to add up those numbers.”

“Even DNA evidence can be faked or manipulated,” Jessica said mildly.  “And even if yours wasn’t, all it would demonstrate would be that two adults might have had sex.  That in itself is hardly illegal, and all we know about Janet Drake is that her sister can’t find her.  She could very well be alive and well and halfway to Oregon by now.”

“If that were true,” said a voice from behind Jessica, “she’d have called and told me about it.  And she hasn’t.  She called me the night before she disappeared – before that man took her – and I haven’t heard from her since.”

Deputy Zayas rose to her feet as Jessica turned around.  “ _Hola._   _Señora_ Fletcher, meet Lucy Drake, Janet’s sister.”

The new arrival was a slim redhead, taller and younger than either of the other women – perhaps twenty-four at the oldest – and gave Jessica a sharp, searching glance.  “J. B. Fletcher, the mystery writer?  Here?”

As she had with the deputy, Jessica returned Lucy’s look in equal measure.  “Mr. Drew’s sister is an old friend; we taught at the same school for several years.  When he was detained, she called me.”

“I see.”  The younger woman turned her attention to the deputy.  “Have you made any progress?”

“We have flyers out, blanketing the relevant areas.”  Zayas handed copies to both Jessica and Lucy.  The word MISSING, in enormous bold type, headed the sheet, followed by a large photo of the missing woman, an 800 number in slightly smaller headline size, and a short summary of the events leading up to the police search.  “There are tips coming in, but so far nothing has checked out.  And it may not,” she added.  “The river currents are pretty strong; depending on where she went in, we may never find her body.”

“ _If_ she went in,” Jessica put in at once.  “So far there’s no telling one way or the other.”

Lucy bristled.  “If Janet was alive, she’d have been in touch.  But I haven’t heard a word since – that night.”

Deputy Zayas made a time-out gesture.  “Ladies, please.  This is an open investigation; we’ll go where the evidence takes us.  And that evidence is still coming in,” she continued, eyeing Jessica none too subtly.  “When we know something, we’ll tell you.  And I should tell you, _Señora_ Fletcher – we have gotten word to Mr. Drew’s daughter.  We’re expecting her here in just a day or two, as soon as she can arrange the flights.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see her,” Lucy said, then added “Thank you for this,” as she folded the flyer, slid it into her purse, and strode quickly out of the room.

Jessica stared after her, then turned toward the deputy.  “He specifically instructed me _not_ to tell Nancy,” she said.  “You notified her against his wishes?”

“Department protocol,” Zayas replied in a cool tone.  “ _Señorita_ Drew’s an adult, and she’s listed in all the relevant databases as his primary emergency contact.  We can’t very well not tell her, in the circumstances.”

Jessica sighed.  “I suppose not.  Very well, then, thank you for your time; I have some calls to make.  I must say, though, one thing about that young woman puzzles me.”

“And what’s that?” Zayas asked.

“Why do you suppose someone as attractive as she is would choose to wear such a cheaply made wig?”

#

**Monday, mid-afternoon • Phone call (Pennsylvania to London)**

“Michael?  Jessica Fletcher.”

A pause.  “Jess?  Good to hear from you...but how in Hades did you get this number?”

Gentle laughter.  “Saved, of course, from the last time you called me.  Or did you forget that I carry what they call a smart phone these days?”

More laughter, masculine but rueful.  “Woman, I did.  ‘Tis a slip I ought to remedy – but that’s for another day.  You’ll be wanting a favor, am I right?”

“I will.  The daughter of an old friend’s brother is over in Glasgow just now, and the brother is – in difficulties in which he doesn’t want her entangled.  If you can arrange to keep her on your side of the Atlantic till I can sort things out....”

A pause.  “I think that might be managed.  You’ve a name for me, I trust?”

“Nancy Drew, from River Heights in Ohio, age twenty-three.  As I understand it, she does have a handful of special clearances, courtesy of the FBI and Interpol.”

A low whistle.  “Aye, that’s a moniker I’ve heard once or twice.  Keeping the likes of her occupied may be a mite more of a challenge.”

A mild _humph_.  “Surely someone of your roguish charm and superior connections should be up to the task.”

“Flattery, my dear, pure flattery – though not unwarranted, I grant you.  I’ll set a thing or two in motion, and keep you apprised.  Mind, I trust you’ll show the proper appreciation once the deed is done.”

Laughter.  “Once I’m back in Cabot Cove, I’ll see about sending you a batch of maple-cranberry scones – air express.”

“Done and done.  Be well, Jessica.”

#

**Monday, late afternoon • Kornblatt Konfectioners (branch office)**

“Ah, Mrs. Fletcher!  My admin told me you might be paying a visit.  What can we do for you?”

Jessica accepted Roger Kornblatt’s offer of a plush side chair – and nodded as he gestured at the tray of elegantly decorated truffles on the small table beside it.  “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.  I’m a friend of Carson Drew’s, you see.”

A clouded expression passed across her host’s well-rounded face.  “I think I do.  There is something very wrong with the stories the paper has printed; it is not in Carson’s character to do anything remotely akin to what has been alleged.   If I can help, I will, and gladly – but I don’t know what aid I can give.”

Jessica nodded.  “I admit I’m not sure either, but I’m following a hunch.  He told me he was visiting this warehouse in connection with some possible business irregularity – is that right?”

“It is.  But it is rather odd – he went through the manifests very carefully, inspected all the storage rooms, went over the lading schedules for both the truck depot and the riverside dock – and didn’t find a blessed thing out of order on any of it.”

“Surely that’s a good thing?”

Kornblatt nodded.  “It is – and yet, we’d had a series of phone tips, about twice a week for three weeks, earlier this summer – suggesting that someone was skimming odd lots from either or both of the fudge crating line and the jelly bean reserves.”

“I see.  The tipster seemed convincing, I take it.”

“She did.  She clearly knew our physical layout well, and the areas she pointed out are in fact among the more vulnerable to that sort of pilferage.”

“Ah,” said Jessica.  “A woman, then.”

“It was,” agreed Kornblatt.  “More young than old, I would think, and plain of voice – she had no unusual accent or turn of speech.”

“Interesting.  Let me just write down the dates of those anonymous calls, if you have them handy.”

Kornblatt reached for his computer keyboard and tapped a command.  “I can do better; we kept track of the dates and – after the first call – such information as our caller ID provided.  I should have given this to Carson, but he did not ask, and when he found no troubles, there seemed no need.”

Jessica smiled warmly as she accepted the resulting printout.  “Well done.”

“You think this may have a bearing on Carson’s own trouble?”

“Let’s say it’s a possibility.  With this, we should be able to tell one way or the other.”

“You are a blessing, Mrs. Fletcher.”  Kornblatt rose as she did, and shook her hand again.  “If you save my friend, I will bless you in return.”

“Oh, dear,” Jessica said, chuckling – and casting a sideways eye on the tray of truffles, which was now, somehow, only half full.  “If that’s an offer to keep me in chocolate for the foreseeable future, I may not have the willpower to refuse.”

Roger Kornblatt returned her smile.  “Let us hope not – and let’s hope you do succeed in freeing Carson Drew.”

#

**Tuesday, mid-morning • A duplex in suburban Philadelphia**

“To be frank,” Jessica said, “I’m not certain what I’m looking for.  But circumstances suggest that someone very badly wants revenge on Carson and Nancy Drew, and I can think of no one more likely to know who that might be than Nancy’s official biographer.”

Carolyn Keene handed Jessica a steaming mug of apple-cinnamon tea and perched herself on the arm of a dark green couch.  “’Biographer’ isn’t really the right word,” she said, picking a yellow-spined book off of the end table next to her.  “There’s no good one-word description for these.  They’re not true crime – most of Nancy’s clients don’t want to talk on the record, and I don’t really blame them.  And unlike your current situation, most of her cases aren’t really dark enough to justify the full true-crime treatment anyway.  But I can’t call them novels – at least not like yours – because I can’t make anything up out of whole cloth.  I’m allowed to ‘re-create’ dialogue, but I can’t invent it, I can’t put anyone into a scene who wasn’t actually there, and I have to be able to substantiate every single word to avoid getting into lawsuit territory.”. 

“That sounds...challenging,” Jessica said.

Ms. Keene chuckled dryly.  “You’re telling me.  But it’s rock-steady work, and you know how scarce that is in the writing business.”

“True.”  Jessica nodded thoughtfully.  “Carson said much the same about Nancy’s cases – that they’re not the sort to prompt a scheme as drastic as what he’s going through just now.  Yet he’s certain Nancy’s the one being targeted.  You must have learned a great deal about his legal practice over time; is there a chance he’s wrong, that some enemy of his might be responsible for what’s happening?”

Ms. Keene sat silent for a moment, one hand reaching down to rub the head of the enormous gray Maine Coon cat stretched along most of the couch’s length.  “That’s hard to say.  By modern standards, he’s a bit of a maverick.  Any other attorney with his credentials would be heading a 90-person partnership with offices nationwide and a net worth in billion-with-a-B territory.  Carson Drew?  Practices all by himself, not counting three paralegals, a receptionist, and a couple of secretaries. What’s more, he’s a generalist: estates, contracts, business law, intellectual property cases, civil litigation, a bit of criminal defense.  His sort of lawyer went out of style sixty years ago – only no one’s ever told him that.”

Jessica smiled slightly.  “I know a doctor who fits that mold.  Very well, let’s try something else.”  She handed the other writer one of the sheriff’s flyers, then held out her cell phone.  “That’s the girl who’s missing, and this is her sister.  The second picture isn’t very good, I’m afraid; I couldn’t very well ask Ms. Drake to pose for it.”

“I see what you mean,” Ms. Keene said, frowning.  “Offhand, I don’t recognize either of them – and I think I would, if they’d been involved in a Nancy Drew case.”  She shook her head and stood up.  “That said, I’d like to hold onto this one and have you shoot me a copy of the other.  I’ll have a look through my archives, and see if anything turns up.”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Jessica, as she reclaimed her phone and quickly invoked the necessary apps.  “This will give you my mobile email address along with the photo. Don’t hesitate to send me a note if you do come up with a connection.”

“That’s a promise,” Ms. Keene replied.  “I know the Drews don’t much like me – and I understand why – but both of them do a lot of people a lot of good.  Any help I can give, you’ve got.”

Jessica slid her phone into a pocket and shook the other writer’s hand warmly.  “Accepted, with thanks.”

#

**Tuesday, early afternoon • The sheriff's office**

Jessica rose as Deputy Zayas strode briskly into the office.  “ _Hola, señora._ If you’re looking for a progress report, I don’t have one for you.  As I said before, the evidence is still coming in.”

“Precisely,” Jessica replied.  “I may have some for you.”

The deputy cocked an eyebrow at her.  “We don’t generally approve of civilians getting involved in active investigations.”

Jessica’s return gaze was firm.  “Collecting information you weren’t actually looking for can hardly be called interference,” she said.  “Now I grant you may consider me a biased source – but then, in that respect, Lucy Drake is just as biased as I am.”

“ _¡Así es!_ ” Zayas said.  “All right, then, let’s have it.”

“I think Carson Drew was lured here deliberately, but proving that – one way or the other – will require a good look at the phone records.”  Jessica handed the deputy a copy of Roger Kornblatt’s printout, and outlined his account of the anonymous tips.

Zayas studied the sheet, frowning.  “So your theory is that the Drake sisters, together, are framing Mr. Drew for Janet’s murder.  Forgive my saying so, _Señora_ , but that sounds like something out of a mystery novel.”

Jessica sighed.  “I suppose it does.  But if one begins by presuming Carson innocent....”

“ _Si_.  So you would have us look, not just at _Senor_ Kornblatt’s records, but at those of the Drake women.  Surely they would not use their own phones to make such ‘anonymous’ calls?”

“Of course not,” Jessica said.  “Quite the opposite, actually.  I’m quite sure Mr. Kornblatt’s tipster used a ‘burn’ phone. But if I’m right, I expect you’ll find the phones the Drake sisters use are just as anonymous.  And if you look at where and when all those phones were purchased, _then_ you may be able to establish a connection.”

Zayas gave her a skeptical look.  “That is considerable work.”

Jessica regarded her calmly.  “I should think,” she said, “that you’d want background checks on both the Drakes in any case.  There may be other relatives who should be notified – just as Nancy was.”  

At that, the deputy blinked.  “ _¡Así es!_ ” she said, seating herself behind her desk.  “In that you are right, _Señora_ ; we have not contacted any other relatives.  And it is...interesting that _Señorita_ Lucy has not raised this matter.  Very well, then; we will see where your evidence – and your theory – takes us.”

“I appreciate that,” said Jessica.  “If I learn anything else of value, I’ll certainly share it.  And I trust you’ll keep me informed, as much as is allowed.”

Deputy Zayas’ face abruptly broke into a cat-like grin.  “ _Señora_ ,” she said, “it is a very good thing you’re a mystery writer.  Otherwise, you’d make either a superior criminal or an extremely skilled detective.  And I’m not sure which of those frightens me more.  _Si_ , I will be in touch when we know more.”

Jessica, already halfway to the door, turned long enough to grin back.  “Why, thank you, Deputy.  Although I should tell you – over the years, I’ve met a few people who’ve worn two of those hats at once.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Zayas, still smiling, as Jessica left the office.

#

**Wednesday, mid-day • Phone Message**

“Jessica?  Michael.  I fear your Miss Drew was immune to my Irish charm, my powers of gentle persuasion, _and_ my attempts to invoke diplomatic authority.  I daresay her contacts in the American State Department are almost as impressive as yours.  All I managed to do was set her back a bit; by my reckoning, she’ll be only about six hours behind her luggage getting to Philadelphia.”

**fifteen minutes later • Email**

 

 

> _**To:** flying.jess@m*****s**w****.net_  
>  _**From:** ckeene999@strat******media.com_
> 
> _“As I told you earlier, I couldn’t associate the person in the photo you sent me with any of the cases I’ve documented for the Nancy Drew Files.  However, there was something familiar about her, and now I believe I know why.  I’m attaching two other photographs, taken in connection with a Stratemeyer Press assignment that ended a number of years ago.  I think the individual you’re seeking is one of these women, although at this late date I’m not certain which, or why she’s evidently chosen to dye her hair. I hope this is of use to you in your current investigation._  
>    
>  _“Yours, Carolyn Keene.”_

#

**Wednesday, mid-afternoon • Phone call (local)  
**

“ _Hola. Señora_ Fletcher?  This is Deputy Zayas.”

“Ah, yes. You have news, I gather?”

Crisp tones. “I do.  Your Ms. Keene’s identification is correct; the photographs are a definite match.  Also, we’ve learned some things of interest with regard to the telephone records.  It seems four ‘burner’ phones were purchased all at once at a Wal-Mart in New York six weeks ago.  Two of them belong to the Drake sisters. One belongs to _Señor_ Kornblatt’s anonymous tipster. And one belongs to a caller who placed _Señor_ Drew near the Kornblatt warehouse the night of Janet Drake’s vanishing.  It is, as you would say, very highly suggestive.”

“I should think so.”

An unhappy tone. “ _Si_ , but there is more. Knowing all this, I phoned the Philadelphia airport, to ask them to watch for _Senorita_ Drew.  I was too late; she had arrived an hour before.  And she was met, and left with, a young woman very much resembling Janet Drake.  They’re sending me photos now.”

A low, sharp breath.  “Dear me.  In that case, we have work to do.”

#

**Wednesday, late evening • Carson Drew's hotel suite  
**

“Damn it, I told you not to bring her in, and this is exactly why!  Now we may never see my daughter again!”

Carson Drew was glaring at Deputy Zayas.  He had been released, cleared of all charges, and even given back his suite at the local hotel – all, at Jessica’s suggestion, without a word to the media, but he was still severely annoyed with local law enforcement. 

“I don’t believe things have gone that far just yet,” Jessica said, in the calmest tone she could manage.  “This has been about revenge from the first, I think – but it’s also been about pain.  To put it bluntly, these girls want both of you disgraced as much or more as they want you dead.  More, they want you both to suffer, both emotionally and in the public eye.  They need your trial and conviction to go forward, precisely so that Nancy has to live through it.  They hope – or so I suspect – that that will break Nancy badly enough to do something irreparably rash, thereby hurting you even further.

Zayas looked bewildered.  “ _¡Así es!_   The reasoning is sound – but if you’re right, why would they kidnap _Señorita_ Drew at this point?  And what will they do when they learn that none of what they want will happen now?”

Jessica’s reply was prompt and blunt.  “I don’t believe Nancy’s been kidnapped.”

“Of course she has!” Carson swung toward her, his tone shocked.  “We all saw the airport security photos.  That’s ‘Janet Drake’, even if she’s dyed her hair and is calling herself Juliet. And they let her walk right out of the terminal with my daughter in tow.”

“True,” Jessica said, “but I think this was part of the plan all along.  This step is meant to gauge the state of Nancy’s mind, and subtly plant the idea that you may really be guilty.  As soon as she drops Nancy off here at the hotel, ‘Juliet’ will disappear right along with Janet.  As their thinking goes, even if Nancy tries to suggest later that Juliet and Janet are one and the same, the appearance will be that she’s trying to defend her father by blaming the victims – and that in doing so, she’s let her emotions override her deductive skills.”

Carson Drew’s expression was a mix of horror and astonishment.  “From a pure psychological standpoint, that’s beautifully reasoned.  Which makes it all the more terrifying just now.  On the plus side, if you’re right, Nancy’s not in immediate danger.  But that being the case, what’s to stop ‘Janet’ – and her sister – from getting off scot-free?”

A faint smile ghosted across Jessica’s face.  “Modern technology – and good detective’s instincts.”  She glanced at her watch.  “Deputy?  You might advise your people in the lobby to be ready, just in case.”

Zayas nodded bemusedly, spoke briefly into her handheld radio, and then gave Jessica a startled look.  “They’re standing by.  And they tell me your timing was perfect.”

Carson Drew blinked.  “What?  You don’t mean—”

“Not now,” Jessica said, lifting a hand warningly.  Carson shrugged, and everyone stood silently for perhaps ninety seconds...

...until the door into the suite opened, and through it came two porters rolling a luggage cart, followed by none other than Nancy Drew and another tall young woman with jet-black hair done up in a complicated knot.

“Juliet here was so nice, driving me all the way from the airport,” Nancy said, “that I insisted she had to come up.  I must admit I wasn’t expecting such a large gathering.”

“I really can’t impose,” the other girl put in at once, her eyes darting around the room.  “I’m sure you’ll all want to catch up, so I’ll just be go—”

There was, abruptly, a flurry of motion.  One of Nancy’s hands closed around her companion’s wrist, while the other plunged into a deep jacket pocket.  The visitor spun in the opposite direction, almost breaking Nancy’s hold, then went very still as Nancy’s free hand came up with a gleaming pair of handcuffs – and Deputy Zayas’ went to the gun at her hip.

“You won’t need those,” she told Nancy, visibly relaxing her stance.  “I’m done.  I – can’t finish this, not now.”

Nancy gave her opponent a searching, studied visual once-over.  Then she nodded slightly and dropped the cuffs back into her pocket.  “Care to talk about it – Jean?”

The other girl let out a sharp breath.  “You know?  How?”

“Jessica did the legwork,” Nancy said, gesturing.  “And her friend from MI-6 did me a favor after all.  If he’d let me catch my original flight, I wouldn’t have seen Ms. Keene’s messages till after I’d landed.”  She turned toward Jessica.  “Carolyn texted me the same photos she sent you, plus the one you took and a scan of the MISSING flyer.  Once I’d seen those, I recognized Jean Dana – and Janet Drake – the moment she came up to me.”

“Jean Dana,” Carson Drew echoed. “So that was the connection.”

“It certainly disposes of the murder case,” said Deputy Zayas, still looking dazed.  “But then what was this all about?”

“Books,” Nancy said at once, “and the fame and supposed fortune that went with them.  The Dana sisters, Jean and Louise, grew up solving mysteries the same way I did, and the publisher that puts out books about my cases also issued a few about some of theirs.  But the Danas’ stories never sold as well, Stratemeyer Press dropped the series years ago – and evidently they took rejection _really_ personally.”

“That about covers it,” Jean observed, her tone rueful.  “You had your father, and – by all appearances – plenty of money.  Louise and I were orphans thrice over.  Our parents died when we were small, so we were raised by our Aunt Harriet and her brother.  But right after we graduated from prep school, Uncle Ned’s cruise ship went down in a hurricane with Aunt Harriet aboard.  And then Stratemeyer dropped us, just when we needed the book money to keep us in groceries. We weren’t remotely prepared for being totally on our own – and you had everything we didn’t.”

There was a knock at the suite’s entrance.  Deputy Zayas went to the door, spoke briefly with one of her men, then turned.  “We have another guest,” she said, stepping aside to admit a tall, red-headed figure.

“Janet – you’re alive!”  Three quick steps took her to Jean Dana’s side, and Nancy stepped back, releasing her hold on the younger girl’s wrist as the sisters embraced.

Jean gave a tired laugh.  “It won’t fly, Louise – we’ve been solved good and proper.”

Louise Dana sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back, holding her sister by the shoulders.  “Have we?  Tell me you didn’t just give up.”

Jessica spoke at once, before either Nancy or Jean could answer.  “She didn’t give your game away – but she ended it on her own terms.  Planning a murder is easy in the abstract; going through with one is another.  Jean made a choice to step off that path.  That took courage, and I respect her for it.”

For a moment, Louise’s grip on Jean visibly tightened – and then she let go of her sister, her own shoulders slumping.  “It really is over, then.”  She turned to Deputy Zayas.  “You might as well take us in; we’ve literally nowhere to go now, and what we got from selling Uncle Ned’s house won’t last much longer.”  A touch of bitterness colored her voice, but mostly what came through was resignation.

“Hold on a moment,” said Carson Drew.  He and Nancy traded a quick, intense glance, and she nodded.  “You may not be as badly off as you think.”

“But we tried to—”

Carson cut Jean Dana off in mid-sentence.  “What you tried to do is one thing; what actually happened – or didn’t – is another.  Most of the genuinely serious crimes that could have arisen out of all this did not, in fact, occur.  What’s left, unless I’m much mistaken, is the matter of false police reports, and the actions the sheriff’s office took as a result.”

Deputy Zayas nodded slowly.  “ _Si_ , this is true.  Time and money were spent investigating these things which did not happen.”

“So they were,” said Mr. Drew.  “But to prosecute anything more serious, the authorities would need considerable cooperation from me.”

Louise had started pacing back and forth across the room.  “That’s easy for you to say,” she told him, “but it still leaves us with what, two or three years’ jail time?  And still nothing to look forward to after.”

Jessica spoke up in response.  “I think you’re underestimating yourselves, Louise.  It’s simply a matter of applying the skills you have a trifle more productively.”

“Skills?” Jean echoed, sounding skeptical.

“Or talents, if you like,” Jessica replied.  “I may have said planning a murder was easy, but the truth is, inventing a really clever plot is no small challenge.  You and Louise actually managed that very well.  We found you out through your connections to the Drews; if you’d tried the same scheme on a total stranger, you could quite possibly have succeeded.  In the alternative, if you’d written a novel based on that scenario, you might have had a bestseller on your hands.  And still might,” she added.

Nancy was nodding.  “Also, you think well on your feet.  If I hadn’t been clued in ahead of time, I’d have taken ‘Juliet’ totally at face value back at the airport.  And I did read some of your casebooks, early on – whatever Stratemeyer thought, your track record as detectives was perfectly good.  I can’t promise anything specific, but some of my federal contacts keep a standing lookout for freelance talent.”

Louise shrugged.  “None of that will help once we’ve got criminal records.  I mean, I suppose we could still write books, but who knows if they’d sell?  And we’d still have to live on something in the meantime, not to mention paying off the sheriff here.”

“If restitution was made,” said Carson Drew mildly, “the matter of criminal charges might very well be negotiable.  And as to the larger financial question, I believe further inquiries are in order.  There should have been substantial insurance or restitution of some kind from your uncle’s employers, and all three of the relevant estates – your parents’, your uncle’s, and your aunt’s – ought to be reviewed to make sure assets weren’t overlooked.  And yes,” he added, trading a wry look with Jessica, “I’m willing to take that on _pro bono_ even after the past week’s little adventure.”

Jean and Louise stepped toward one another again, and spent a few moments simply looking into each other’s eyes.  Then they nodded at one another, and Louise turned to Mr. Drew.

“We’ve had a lot of rugs pulled out from under us by people we trusted,” she said, “and then there’s the whole too-proud-to-take-charity script playing in my head.  But the plain fact is, what happened this last week we did to ourselves.  If we have any future at all now, it’s a pure gift from you and Nancy and Jessica – and I don’t see how we can turn it down.  I’m going to absolutely hate being in your debt for the rest of my life, but I’d rather do that than not have a life in the first place.”

Jean, meanwhile, had approached Deputy Zayas.  “So what now?” she asked.  “Even if it all comes right eventually, I have to think we’re about to get arrested for _something_.”

The deputy gave an eloquent shrug.  “ _¡_ _Ay caramba!_ It is as _Señor_ Drew says, a matter of false police reports.  But that’s a complicated charge, and I didn’t think I’d need to do that paperwork tonight.”

“It’s also quite late,” Jessica pointed out, “and I think we’ve settled everything we can for tonight, so I suggest we adjourn.  You might,” she told the deputy, “set a watch outside the Danas’ rooms as a matter of protocol, but I should think anything more formal can wait till morning.”

The Danas exchanged a look.  “But we don’t have—”

Deputy Zayas finally smiled. “ _Si_ , _señoritas_ , but you do, just down the hall.  _Señora_ Fletcher made the reservation, after I spoke with airport security this afternoon.  I will see,” she added to Louise, “that your things are brought from ‘ _Señorita_ Drake’s’ hotel at once.”

Louise gave Jessica a sour look.  “Did I mention I _hate_ taking charity?”

Jessica merely chuckled.  “Then start working on a novel tonight.  The sooner it sells, the sooner you can pay me back.”

“That,” said Louise, “is a deal.”  She turned, took her sister’s hand, and followed Deputy Zayas out of the suite.

Nancy crossed the room, taking Jessica’s right hand in both of hers.  “I can’t begin to thank you,” she said, “for all this.  If it hadn’t been for you—”

“Thank your Aunt Eloise,” said Jessica, “for calling me in.  I don’t doubt you’d have solved the case yourself, in time.”

“But not before the Dana girls put me through one hell of an emotional wringer,” Nancy replied.  “Do you really think they’ll bounce back from this?”

Jessica gave her a thoughtful look.  “I think they can.  They’re stronger than they realize; they just need to learn to write their own stories, not play out the ones that were written for them.”  She smiled gently, freeing herself from Nancy’s grip.  “And now it’s time I let you and your father catch up with one another.”

Nancy watched silently as Jessica let herself out – then rushed across the room to catch Carson Drew in a fierce hug.  “What were you _thinking_?” she demanded.  “You should have called me the moment they arrested you!”

“That I wanted to keep you out of that emotional wringer you just mentioned,” her father retorted, the response coming out four or five syllables at a time due to the closeness of Nancy’s embrace.  “It is, after all, what fathers are for.”

“Point,” said Nancy, releasing him.  “And now that I think of it, there _is_ one good thing about Jessica Fletcher’s having solved this particular case.”

“Oh?”

“Since it was her mystery rather than mine, Carolyn and Stratemeyer can’t do a book about it.”

Carson Drew blinked, started to laugh aloud, then stopped in mid-chuckle.

“Dad?  What’s the matter?”

“Remind me to look up the terms of the Danas’ contract with Stratemeyer.  Given that this was also _their_ case – and depending on just what they agreed to – Stratemeyer might be able to argue that it counts as a ‘Dana Girls’ mystery.”

“Ouch,” Nancy said, feelingly.  “Wait, though – if they try that, why not sic Mrs. Fletcher’s publisher on them?  If they put in a serious bid for the rights, Stratemeyer would fold faster than a Japanese origami artist.”

“And Jessica would either write a book that actually does justice to the whole crazy business, or maybe just put ‘Carson Drew case’ so far down her writing schedule that it would never see print.  Nancy, you’re a genius.”

“A very tired genius,” Nancy told him, turning to collect a single bag from the heap of luggage the porters had left.  “See you in the morning.  Or possibly the afternoon.”

“Which one?”

“Think of it,” said Nancy over her shoulder, as she let herself into the suite’s second bedroom, “as a mystery.”

# # #

**Author's Note:**

> _This story mutated sharply -- and unexpectedly -- in its final stages. I had finished and posted a complete draft, then happened to go back and reread the assignment and accompanying letter -- and realized that I had stepped much closer than I'd realized toward a plot point that might be construed as a DNW. At that point, I reread the story -- and realized both that I couldn't entirely eliminate that plot point, and that the most obvious fix would only send me farther into cliché territory than I already was. What you see now is the result of a very late, very substantial rewrite in which the back half of the story bears very little resemblance to the original draft, and in which Louise and Jean Dana are (I hope) a good deal more three-dimensional than they were in my first version. I sincerely hope that, despite the initial foray into darker territory than Nancy Drew usually encounters, this story proves satisfying as a blend of the Drew and Fletcher canons._
> 
> _I should also note here that I'm not the first to introduce "Carolyn Keene" into Nancy Drew's fictional orbit; that's also a hallmark of Chelsea Cain's professionally published novel, **Confessions of a Teen Sleuth** (which I recommend highly to teen-sleuth fans generally and Nancy Drew fans in particular). My version of the character, however, is markedly different from Ms. Cain's._


End file.
